Drift
The city had forgotten what it was supposed to look like.
I gave some old stories a little love and polish. Find them here. They are my personal favourites.
The city had forgotten what it was supposed to look like.
Fouad’s hands were flat on the counter.
The ping came in the third hour of daywatch.
The habitat breathes at night. You stop hearing it after the first week. You absorb it. Become it.
The lair smelled like solder and bad decisions.
The morning started with Donnie eating toast over the sink the way he always did
A thousand years. Still going.
The rock cut through her gloves at the third handhold.
The steam wand hisses.
Ruthanne stopped apologizing years ago.
The air tastes like ammonia and bleach and something underneath both.
I can make it ring.